For any good soul out there who happens to be following, I am still cancer free. My latest 6 month scans were clean, and Dr. Kunta has given me his blessing to have my port removed. It will be a pleasant few months, without worry about cancer, surgery or catastrophic illness.
Again, thank you for your good thoughts.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Niall and Richard.
Richard and Niall spent a nice afternoon with us. Someone gave me a terrible something that sent me to the hospital, but it was a good day. Thanks to PDub for his photo.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Medical System
One of my doctors, who I won't name to help him keep his job, displayed an unusually passionate political point of view in his office the other day. A patient brought in a DVD of the Kite Runner to watch during their chemo. He made a comment along the lines of, this goes to show you what happens if you abandon a country and don't finish the job. This was all it took to get the doc off on a tirade. "Maybe the US should have finished the job in Afghanistan, before invading Iraq. You know, do you know, if we were to take all the money we spend on Iraq militarily and just handed cash to the Iraqis, do you know how it would be? 175,000$ for each man woman and child in Iraq. Every year. It is insane. I have to fight to get my patients a CT scan. Every day I am fighting this system and I am tired. I'm going to build a house in India and leave the US."
I was impressed. He is a good man, but I would never expect a open discussion of his opinions in front of a half dozen patients. I guess the cancer community is more like a family. We spend lots of time together getting chemo in a group. We're all pretty vulnerable. Our doctor is a rock star. We hang on his words and revel in his attention.
I was impressed. He is a good man, but I would never expect a open discussion of his opinions in front of a half dozen patients. I guess the cancer community is more like a family. We spend lots of time together getting chemo in a group. We're all pretty vulnerable. Our doctor is a rock star. We hang on his words and revel in his attention.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
English Spellings
I have lived in the United States of America for almost 15 years. I am sincerely fond of the people, the culture and the geography. I am even developing a weakness for projectile weapons, though of an extremely modest calibre. And if you caught that last word, you will begin to see my point: I have yet to be able to embrace the US taste for rashly reworking the good Queen's English.
I understand, language is change. Lovely, true, remarkable. Careers made of it. The inexorable "Great Vowel Shift", "a linguistic fact", you say. You say, "We'd all be speaking some Indo-European proto language, merrily inviting the wrath of an Abrahamic god, if you had your way." And, barring the metaphysical backlash, would that be so bad?
Surely, as a professional working in a US context I conform to the US standard of spelling. Indeed, I am peevishly reminded by nearly every electronic composition tool that my use of colour, amoung and calibre is a failing. Red underlining and brusquely worded pop-ups pile on the calumny. As a working individual in this culture, I will conform to your spellings.
I will not, however, us US spellings here. I leave aside past posts where I may have used the US spelling with mindless acceptance of authority. I now rebel! I will spell with all the valour the Good Queen intended!
I understand, language is change. Lovely, true, remarkable. Careers made of it. The inexorable "Great Vowel Shift", "a linguistic fact", you say. You say, "We'd all be speaking some Indo-European proto language, merrily inviting the wrath of an Abrahamic god, if you had your way." And, barring the metaphysical backlash, would that be so bad?
Surely, as a professional working in a US context I conform to the US standard of spelling. Indeed, I am peevishly reminded by nearly every electronic composition tool that my use of colour, amoung and calibre is a failing. Red underlining and brusquely worded pop-ups pile on the calumny. As a working individual in this culture, I will conform to your spellings.
I will not, however, us US spellings here. I leave aside past posts where I may have used the US spelling with mindless acceptance of authority. I now rebel! I will spell with all the valour the Good Queen intended!
So What?
So what? I have posted nothing in over 3 months. It doesn't mean I have kicked off yet, nor that I love no one but myself and cheese. I've had bigger things to deal with, like my recently declared pogrom on the squirrel population in my back yard (a subject for a future post). Or, perhaps that I had surgery that knocked me on my ever scrawnier ass for two months.
I swear: I love that folks have complained of my sparse posts. Vanity would have hoped the number of complaints were a tad more, shall we say, ample, yet I am diminished by my neglectfulness. I stand abashed.
It has been much more difficult to bounce back from surgery than I imagined. I have a self-image that is somewhere just short of a superhero, and being confined to gentle walking and large doses of "taking it easy" has forced me to reconsider. I might really be human after all. I will bounce back. That is not in question.
My surgeon, Dr. Scott T. Kelley, formerly of the H. Lee Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa, was the right guy for me. He was the top guy at the top institute in the region, where 10 colon resections are done a week and 10 liver resections are done a month. A tenth those numbers would qualify as a major center for that kind of surgery. Dr. Kelley, surprisingly for a surgeon (no offense intended to my charming niece), was also a nice guy. The kind of guy you would drink a beer with, or enjoy a good wine over a family dinner of pasta. He's a bit of an Italo-phile, so he had Kim at Buongiorno! Our initial appointments with Dr. Kelley convinced us he was the man we could trust to do the right thing.
He scared me a certain points, letting me see under the covers just a bit more than I expected. Frighteningly clear is how much surgery remains an art and not a science. It might even be considered a craft, and I present as evidence our conversations on the surgery: "Well, I'll be able to tell when I get in there. I'll want to feel around and see what I can find before I make the final decision", evoking memories of automotive mechanics and they're winning ways. Or the guy who's going to fix your air conditioning. Except that you're knocked unconscious on the table and have to agree to the work order before you know what they plan to do. You can't tell the surgical team to get they're sorry asses off your property. "I'll fix my own liver at that price."
In the end, I am happy to be alive and in one (slightly curtailed) piece. Dr. Kelley was very pleased with the end product of his craft and declared that I was "no evidence of disease". I was pleased to hear that news as well. I won't go into the recovery phase of the surgery 'cause it was a pus sucking nightmare, but if you'd like a glimpse, don't miss my beautiful wife's Flickr collection.
I swear: I love that folks have complained of my sparse posts. Vanity would have hoped the number of complaints were a tad more, shall we say, ample, yet I am diminished by my neglectfulness. I stand abashed.
It has been much more difficult to bounce back from surgery than I imagined. I have a self-image that is somewhere just short of a superhero, and being confined to gentle walking and large doses of "taking it easy" has forced me to reconsider. I might really be human after all. I will bounce back. That is not in question.
My surgeon, Dr. Scott T. Kelley, formerly of the H. Lee Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa, was the right guy for me. He was the top guy at the top institute in the region, where 10 colon resections are done a week and 10 liver resections are done a month. A tenth those numbers would qualify as a major center for that kind of surgery. Dr. Kelley, surprisingly for a surgeon (no offense intended to my charming niece), was also a nice guy. The kind of guy you would drink a beer with, or enjoy a good wine over a family dinner of pasta. He's a bit of an Italo-phile, so he had Kim at Buongiorno! Our initial appointments with Dr. Kelley convinced us he was the man we could trust to do the right thing.
He scared me a certain points, letting me see under the covers just a bit more than I expected. Frighteningly clear is how much surgery remains an art and not a science. It might even be considered a craft, and I present as evidence our conversations on the surgery: "Well, I'll be able to tell when I get in there. I'll want to feel around and see what I can find before I make the final decision", evoking memories of automotive mechanics and they're winning ways. Or the guy who's going to fix your air conditioning. Except that you're knocked unconscious on the table and have to agree to the work order before you know what they plan to do. You can't tell the surgical team to get they're sorry asses off your property. "I'll fix my own liver at that price."
In the end, I am happy to be alive and in one (slightly curtailed) piece. Dr. Kelley was very pleased with the end product of his craft and declared that I was "no evidence of disease". I was pleased to hear that news as well. I won't go into the recovery phase of the surgery 'cause it was a pus sucking nightmare, but if you'd like a glimpse, don't miss my beautiful wife's Flickr collection.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Good News
We received great news yesterday. My so-called restaging CT and PET scans came back with very good news. My tumors have been beaten back very significantly. The "hypermetabolism", measured by the PET scan, in my initial scan showed my primary colon tumor and the lesions in my liver very brightly. This means they were actively growing and eating sugars meant for the genuinely good bits of my body. My latest scan shows almost no hypermetabolism. One tiny spot on the liver about 6mm in diameter. This is fantastic news meaning that my tumors are very responsive to the chemo. This should remove any hesitancy on the part of my surgeon to operate (or cut, as the docs call it).
The surgeon's hesitation comes from the fact that, if you remove half of someone's liver and their cancer is not under control, you've simply shortened their life. Tiny lesions on parts of the liver you didn't cut out will then grow and destroy the liver. Livers are important:oddly enough, they keep you alive. The fact that my tumors respond (i.e. die) from the chemo should kill off any residual spots than were not removed.
I'm not one for irrational exuberance (some call me Mr. Negative Man), but this makes me smile. It's not a normal situation, to be excited about the opportunity to have half your liver and a good chunk of colon cut out, but I am. Scares me a bit to have major surgery, but, as I like to say, it sure beats the alternative.
The surgeon's hesitation comes from the fact that, if you remove half of someone's liver and their cancer is not under control, you've simply shortened their life. Tiny lesions on parts of the liver you didn't cut out will then grow and destroy the liver. Livers are important:oddly enough, they keep you alive. The fact that my tumors respond (i.e. die) from the chemo should kill off any residual spots than were not removed.
I'm not one for irrational exuberance (some call me Mr. Negative Man), but this makes me smile. It's not a normal situation, to be excited about the opportunity to have half your liver and a good chunk of colon cut out, but I am. Scares me a bit to have major surgery, but, as I like to say, it sure beats the alternative.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Happy New Year!
A bit late, but who's checking.
I'm almost 2 weeks out from what we hope to be my last round of chemo for a while. Maybe until April. That would be a great holiday. I've not written for a while for a number of reasons, but mostly the chemo. Chemo slows me down and makes me stupid. And perhaps I'm bored with myself.
To pick up a dirty old cliche, much used and toyed with, I can see light at the end of the tunnel. To even feel that there is a light end to their tunnel is a blessing for any cancer survivor. I see the old guys at the Juice Factory. They've been at chemo for years, just staying alive. And, as those with life threatening illnesses know, every day is a blessing.
We watched "Click" on DVD last night. The movie has some hilarious moments, causing Dillan and Kimi to laugh uncontrollably. Lots of tremendous bawdy humour, but surprisingly, a message of great importance: live every day, family comes first.
To business, my medical status is I hope nearing the middle of my journey. I have just had a new set of body CT and PET scans. Today I am drinking up my iodine contrast for a dedicated liver CT at the Moffit Cancer Center. Moffit is a good center and the staff are, generally speaking good to me. They're ranked #16 by US News and World Report. #1 in Florida. It's cleaner here than most hospitals or clinics I have been to. I like that.
I won't see my surgeon or his nurse this visit, since there is nothing to discuss. He is waiting for the results of all the tests I am going through. At that time, he will make the decision to go ahead with the liver lobectomy and colon resection. He refers to the current tests as "re-staging studies". It seems odd that he would refer to the stage of my cancer, since I am Stage IV, and they don't have any more advanced stages. There is no chance that the Stage of my cancer will be different since any distant metastases put you at a IV, independent of how large your mets are. The real questions are: is the primary tumour in my colon shrinking and are my nasty little mets shrinking from the chemo treatments. I do beleive they are responding, since my CEA counts have dropped to 20 from an initial 90 or so. Also, I have no awareness of the tumour in my colon. It may have been strange phantom contact, but I have had an awareness in my gut that is not there now. It would be wonderful if we were all ready to go.
That brings me to the surgery. To say that I am worried about the surgery is not completely wrong. I look forward to getting through it as a major step to curing my cancer. I'm as impatient as hell to move forward with something other than chemo, which is turning my body into a litany of undesirable side-effects. The surgery is really the peak of my treatment. Chemo is nasty, but passive. The side-effects will go away with time, as folks tell me. Surgery, though, is not passive. They will open up my abdomen with something probably resembling a Mercedes incision:
However, the incision will probably be longer, since they'll be going after colon as well. I'm looking at some pretty spectacular scarring. Not to mention that I'll be getting some chemo post-surgery, and the chemo has made a mess of some of my other scars. My abs were not much to look at before this: no one ever said what a sexy beast I was without a shirt on. Some, in fact, insisted on me putting my shirt back on. Now at least, I will appeal to ladies with scar fetishes.
The liver resection is still an unknown for me. The surgeon has not yet said what his surgical plan will be. I irks me, a tad, to have such a major part of my treatment plan undefined. It is a combination of my emotional neediness and my engineer's desire for a well defined program: I am irked. Kimi says I should be less concerned about it, but holy crap if you look at what they are planning to do, remove a major part of my liver, I would like to have a sense of what is about to be done. Supposedly, they know what is to be done. This is a major center for this kind of surgery, and my boy, Dr. Scott Kelly, MD, is head of Gastro Surgery. If he doesn't yet know, I would have a hard time trusting anyone who had a plan. I guess that is good. I have trust. He isn't about to do this lightly.
To come up from my deep dive into medical grumbling, my general well-being is good. I am tired, the chemo has taken alot of my energy. However, I feel good. I've been working most days, except when I have tests or chemo. I've more or less stopped losing weight, which has been a challenge since food tastes like poop. After 25 pounds, it's time to stop. I could list my side effects, but some of them are unsavory. Unfit to print. The nice thing is I still look handsome. I look in the mirror, and I say to myself, or anyone who will listen, "I'm a handsome guy".
I'm almost 2 weeks out from what we hope to be my last round of chemo for a while. Maybe until April. That would be a great holiday. I've not written for a while for a number of reasons, but mostly the chemo. Chemo slows me down and makes me stupid. And perhaps I'm bored with myself.
To pick up a dirty old cliche, much used and toyed with, I can see light at the end of the tunnel. To even feel that there is a light end to their tunnel is a blessing for any cancer survivor. I see the old guys at the Juice Factory. They've been at chemo for years, just staying alive. And, as those with life threatening illnesses know, every day is a blessing.
We watched "Click" on DVD last night. The movie has some hilarious moments, causing Dillan and Kimi to laugh uncontrollably. Lots of tremendous bawdy humour, but surprisingly, a message of great importance: live every day, family comes first.
To business, my medical status is I hope nearing the middle of my journey. I have just had a new set of body CT and PET scans. Today I am drinking up my iodine contrast for a dedicated liver CT at the Moffit Cancer Center. Moffit is a good center and the staff are, generally speaking good to me. They're ranked #16 by US News and World Report. #1 in Florida. It's cleaner here than most hospitals or clinics I have been to. I like that.
I won't see my surgeon or his nurse this visit, since there is nothing to discuss. He is waiting for the results of all the tests I am going through. At that time, he will make the decision to go ahead with the liver lobectomy and colon resection. He refers to the current tests as "re-staging studies". It seems odd that he would refer to the stage of my cancer, since I am Stage IV, and they don't have any more advanced stages. There is no chance that the Stage of my cancer will be different since any distant metastases put you at a IV, independent of how large your mets are. The real questions are: is the primary tumour in my colon shrinking and are my nasty little mets shrinking from the chemo treatments. I do beleive they are responding, since my CEA counts have dropped to 20 from an initial 90 or so. Also, I have no awareness of the tumour in my colon. It may have been strange phantom contact, but I have had an awareness in my gut that is not there now. It would be wonderful if we were all ready to go.
That brings me to the surgery. To say that I am worried about the surgery is not completely wrong. I look forward to getting through it as a major step to curing my cancer. I'm as impatient as hell to move forward with something other than chemo, which is turning my body into a litany of undesirable side-effects. The surgery is really the peak of my treatment. Chemo is nasty, but passive. The side-effects will go away with time, as folks tell me. Surgery, though, is not passive. They will open up my abdomen with something probably resembling a Mercedes incision:
However, the incision will probably be longer, since they'll be going after colon as well. I'm looking at some pretty spectacular scarring. Not to mention that I'll be getting some chemo post-surgery, and the chemo has made a mess of some of my other scars. My abs were not much to look at before this: no one ever said what a sexy beast I was without a shirt on. Some, in fact, insisted on me putting my shirt back on. Now at least, I will appeal to ladies with scar fetishes.
The liver resection is still an unknown for me. The surgeon has not yet said what his surgical plan will be. I irks me, a tad, to have such a major part of my treatment plan undefined. It is a combination of my emotional neediness and my engineer's desire for a well defined program: I am irked. Kimi says I should be less concerned about it, but holy crap if you look at what they are planning to do, remove a major part of my liver, I would like to have a sense of what is about to be done. Supposedly, they know what is to be done. This is a major center for this kind of surgery, and my boy, Dr. Scott Kelly, MD, is head of Gastro Surgery. If he doesn't yet know, I would have a hard time trusting anyone who had a plan. I guess that is good. I have trust. He isn't about to do this lightly.
To come up from my deep dive into medical grumbling, my general well-being is good. I am tired, the chemo has taken alot of my energy. However, I feel good. I've been working most days, except when I have tests or chemo. I've more or less stopped losing weight, which has been a challenge since food tastes like poop. After 25 pounds, it's time to stop. I could list my side effects, but some of them are unsavory. Unfit to print. The nice thing is I still look handsome. I look in the mirror, and I say to myself, or anyone who will listen, "I'm a handsome guy".
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